UC-NRLF 


P   S 

1543 

D44 

A17 

1874 

MAIN 


SON'S  POEMS.  i 


r^  v^3^ 

.     ,cy/>&0i 


THE   ROBERT   E.  COWAN  COLLECTION 

I'KKSI-.NTKli     n>    T1IK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


C.  P.  HUNTINGTON 
flee  sssion  No  6>ff3?      Class  No. 


POEMS: 


EDWARD    ISAAC    DOBSON. 


PRINTED  FOR  THE  AUTHOR. 

SAN  FRANCISCO. 

1874. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1874, 

BY  EDWARD  ISAAC  DOBSON, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


35 


TO 
MISS  MARY  C.  DOBSON, 

THIS 

POLLECTION  is  INSCRIBED  AS  A  piFT  OF  J^OYE, 

BY   HER 

AFFECTIONATE    BROTHER. 


PREFACE. 

In  presenting  this  volume  to  the  public,  I  am  well  aware 
that  I  am  daring  considerable,  especially  in  expressing  so 
boldly  my  views  on  religion.  As  regards  my  atheism,  I  will 
merely  say  that  I  have  never  read,  until  recently,  the  writ 
ings  of  any  one  on  the  subject:  that  I  have  regarded  Nature 
as  the  one  creative  power  of  The  Universe,  and  disbelieved 
the  doctrine  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul  ever  since  I  can 
remember;  that,  on  all  such  important  matters,  I  form  my 
opinions  intuitively;  that,  if  my  book  is  to  be  condemned 
because  the  ideas  advanced  in  one  of  the  poems  are  at  vari 
ance  with  those  of  the  majority  of  the  civilized  world,  then 
let  it  be  condemned. 

For  the  benefit  of  those  disappointed  ambitionists  styling 
themselves  critics,  who  do  not  know  the  difference  between 
honorable  criticism  and  slur,  and  for  the  general  information 
of  the  public,  I  will  state  that  I  was  born  in  Rough  and 
JB,  Ready.  Of  the  noble  class  of  reviewers,  whose  sole  object 
in  discovering  and  pointing  out  to  an  author  his  errors  is  to 
enable  him  to  avoid  similar  mistakes  in  the  future,  I  beg 
they  will  be  uninfluenced  by  any  considerations  whatever  for 
my  youth  or  place  of  birth,  and  that  they  will  trouble  them 
selves  to  criticize  my  writings  thoroughly. 

That  they  will  find  much  that  is  juvenile  in  the  collection 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  since  the  writer  has  only  seen  nine 
teen  years  of  life.  Lastly,  to  those  grand  philanthropists, 
whose  noble  generosity  has  enabled  me  to  publish  my  poems, 
I  return  my  sincerest  thanks. 

EDWARD   ISAAC    DOBSON. 


INDEX. 

THE  MISANTHROPE 11 

THE  PAST  : .22 

A  REVERIE 26 

THE  AGE  OF  CHIVALRY 44 

To  L.  P.  H 46 

DREAM  OF  DEATH 47 

HOPE  ON 49 

A  RETROSPECT 50 

LINES  TO  XAIDIE 52 

DEFYING  FATE 53 

To  L.  P.  H 54 

To  NAIDIE 55 

NOTES  AND  ERRATA  .  .  56 


POEMS. 


POEMS. 


THE   MISANTHROPE. 

CANTO    I. 

I  sing  of  one,  as  yet  unknown  to  Fame, 
But  hopes,  ere  he  has  run  his  dreary  race, 

To  write,  on  Glory's  sacred  scroll,  a  name 
That  will  assume  in  ages  hence  a  place, 

Such  as  the  bards  of  yore  so  proudly  claim, 
Which  full  ten  thousand  years  will  not  efface, 

In  grandeur,  looming  out  the  mists  of  Time, 

Towering,  o'er  dim  centuries,  sublime ! 

Oh !  Love !  thou  inspiration  of  my  song, 

Howr  many  hearts  have  ached  through  thee  and 
thine! 

Thou  sole  original  of  Right  and  Wrong, 
That  forceth  such  as  I  to  sigh  and  pine 

For  thee,  because  our  natures  are  not  strong, 
Help  me  relate  this  deep  remorse  of  mine, 

To  quell  the  hopeless  hopes  within  this  verse, 

And  in  Forgetfulness  my  thoughts  immerse! 


12  THE    MISANTHROPE. 

Have  I  not  worshiped  at  thy  shrine  for  years, 
All-knowing  that  'twas  better  far  to  die, 

Than  live  the  child  of  grief  and  tortured  fears, 
That  dared  express  themselves  but  in  a  sigh, 

Because  the  heart  of  her,  who  thus  endears, 
Is  all  that  Truth  and  Innocence  imply, 

And  will  not  link  its  destiny  with  mine, 

That  Purity  with  Vice  may  not  combine  ?    . 

Have  I  not  reverenced  her  very  name, 
Regarded  her  as  far  too  pure  for  life  ? 

Have  I  not  risked  my  happiness  for  Fame, 

Nor  groaned  'neath  ills  with  disappointments  rife, 

But  to  attain  an  all-undying  name, 

In  hopes  with  her  to  battle  in  the  strife, 

Rewarding  thus,  her  virtues,  with  renown, 

That  coming  centuries  would  carry  down  ? 

Have  I  not  done  all  this,  and  shall  it  fail  ? 

Should  I  succeed  with  energy  of  mind, 
In  forcing  all  mine  enemies  to  quail 

Before  my  strength,  and  climb  above  my  kind, 
After  long  years,  all  withered,  worn,  and  pale 

With  suffering  and  toil,  then  will  I  find, 
That  all  my  labor  has  been  spent  for  naught, 
All  lives,  with  sorrow  such  as  mine,  are  fraught  ? 

A  youth,  yet  not  like  others  of  his  age, 

Upwards,  from  his  boyhood,  he  stood  alone; 


THE    MISANTHROPE.  13 

Possessing  all-enduring  strength  to  wage 
A  war  with  all  the  World,  he  did  not  groan 

When  Envy's  hosts  combined  to  make  him  rage; 
All-breathless  watched,  and  hoped  to  hear  him 
moan 

Beneath  the  disappointments  piled  around — 

His  heart  was  pierced,  he  uttered  not  a  sound! 

His  was  a  nature  that  could  meet  old  Fate 
Undaunted,  fearing  not  the  ills  in  store, 

Though  far  within  his  soul  would  penetrate 
The  dark,  self-torturing  remorse  he  ever  bore, 

Which  dreary  years  of  pain  could  not  abate, 
Eating  deep  in  his  bosom  to  the  core, 

And  making  Thought  itself  a  furied  Hell, 

That  Time  nor  even  Circumstance  could  quell  1 

Of  all  the  griefs,  remorse  of  love  is  worst: 
His  was  affection  seldom  known,  which  years 

Of  constancy  and  hope  had  cruelly  nursed; 
Now  led  to  trust,  now  overborne  with  fears, 

He  thus  was  doomed  to  be  e'en  doubly  cursed, 
For  Earthly   Love,   by   Doubt  diverged,   naught 
rears, 

But  vain  regrets  for  what  was  wont  to  be, 

Ere  storms  arose  to  rough  its  shoreless  sea1 

Knowing  the  World,  he  hated  it,  with  all 
Its  ostentatious  virtue,  hiding  sin, 


14  THE    MISANTHROPE. 

Degraded  soulless  worms  content  to  crawl, 

That  false  society  might  let  them  in 
To  share  the  pleasures  of  her  banquet  hall, 

Amidst  alluring  vice,  a  name  to  win, 
Each  smirking  hypocrite,  to  kindly  greet, 
And  'neath  his  smile,  see  lurking  his  deceit! 

The  high  morality  that  used  to  sway 

Mankind,  ere  money  saved  men's  necks,  is  dead, 
And  Justice  wearied,  falling  to  decay, 

While  Mockery  arises  in  her  stead, 
Looks  back  along  the  age  of  yesterday, 

When  forth  to  battle  she  her  cohorts  led, 
Uplifting  from  the  Earth  sweet  Freedom's  pall, 
Regretful  sighs,  that  there  she  did  not  fall ! 

To-day  beholds  a  man,  among  the  first 
To  lead  along  the  age,  with  truths  oft-told, 

But  given  weight  by  him,  appear  accursed : 

Each  hour,  some  new-found  crime  doth  now  un 
fold, 

And  though  he,  in  the  blackest,  is  immersed, 
His  fawning  crew  still  stubbornly  uphold 

Him  spotless,  as  an  angel  to  the  World — 

Far  better  men  to  Hades  have  been  hurled ! 

He  crushed  his  friends  to  cloak  deceit,  and  hid, 
Beneath  an  outward  holiness,  his  crime, 


THE    MISANTHROPE.  15 

The  one,  of  all  commandments,  most  forbid, 
Of  human  love,  most  sacredly  sublime, 

In  breaking  which,  his  life  was  all  undid, 

A  life  of  fame  that  reached  from  clime  to  clime, 

Wherever  Glory's  banner  floats  the  breeze, 

From  Afric's  wilds  to  Arctic's  dreary  seas ! 

Of  all  unseemly  things,  the  hypocrite 

Is  dreaded,  shunned,  and  most  despised  in  life, 

His  soul  so  black  that  none  can  fathom  it, 
With  petty  meannesses  and  hate  so  rife, 

Those  like  himself  consider  him  unfit 

Companionship,  when  battling  in  the  strife. 

As  dogs  fight  o'er  possession  of  a  bone, 

So  they  prefer  to  smirk  and  crawl  alone ! 

Now  is  the  age  when  Malice  reigns  as  King, 

When  men  are  warned  to  check  desire  for  Fame. 

When  bards  are  kindly  cautioned  not  to  sing, 
To  quell  a  useless  longing  for  a  name, 

Which  only  years  of  toil  and  labor  bring, 
That  on  posterity  they  have  no  claim ;     - 

Yet  still  there  be  possessing  strength  and  will, 

Who  dare  to  climb  by  aid  of  pen  or  quill ! 

And  I  myself  am  one  of  them — I'll  write 

Whate'er  best  pleases  me,  let  .read  who  may, 
Hypocrisy  and  priests  alike  I'll  fight, 


I  6  THE    MISANTHROPE. 

Prepare  ye  then  for  blood  in  this  affray; 
Two  thousand  stars  and  more,  all  blazing  light, 

Will  scarcely  show  the  terrible  array 
Of  crimes  Religion  has  well  cloaked  for  years, 
To  hide  her  bastard  priests  and  their  compeers! 

Look  back  to  when  old  Rome  ruled  all  the  world, 
When  free  from  cunning  priest  and  subtle  pope  ; 

See  Freedom's  banner  o'er  the  Earth  unfurled, 
Ere  with  Religion  she  was  forced  to  cope, 

When   round   the  Globe,  on  winds  of  Peace  were 

whirled 
Sweet  Liberty  to  all,  and  endless  Hope  ; 

Behold  ye  now,  the  ruin  they  have  made, 

And  marvel  not  that  I  have  thus  assayed 

To  give  expression  to  the  thoughts  that  swell 
Within  my  soul,  when  thinking  of  the  Past, 

The   outraged  thoughts  which  naught  save    Death 

can  quell, 
That  even  he  shall  spirit  from  me  last, 

All  winding  through   my  mind  like   some  strange 

spell, 
From  out  a  heart  with  secret  grief  o'ercast, 

To  curse  the  dogs  that  whine  where  Caesar  fell, 

Where  Romans  lived,  presuming  there  to  dwell  ! 

Entwining  round  those  ruins  grand,  a  Hell 
Of  Superstition,  Ignorance  and  Crime, 


THE    MISANTHROPE.  17 

That  they  may  yet,  through  means  most  damned, 
compel 

The  World  to  wallow  in  their  filthy  slime  ! 
But  hark  !  the  Future  tolls  the  Clergy's  knell  ; 

From  out  the  mists  old  Reason  looms  sublime, 
The  truth  descending  is,  from  age  to  age, 
Who  worships  Nature,  he  is  Nature's  sage  ! 

Oh  !  Nature  !  thou  materialist  supreme, 

Thou  sole  creator  of  the  Universe, 
In  whom  we  live  and  breathe  as  in  a  dream, 

Could  I  in  thy  most  secret  springs  immerse 
My  thoughts,  untamed  and  wild  as  they  may  seem, 

To  drown  from  out  my  mind  its  darksome  curse, 
Then  would  I  feel  my  heart  throw  off  its  grief, 
That  for  my  late  remorse  there  is  relief  ! 

I  have  communed  with  thee  when  none  were  near — 
Have  heard  thy  voice  from  mount  to  mount  deep 
roll, 

In  thunder  tones,  that  shook  each  starry  sphere, 
Forth-drawing  inspirations  from  my  soul, 

Which  made  thy  sacred  presence  doubly  dear  ; 
Of  all  existence,  thou  hast  full  control  ; 

Ten  thousand  voices  lift  to  thee  with  mine, 

Proclaiming  thee  the  only  God  divine  ! 


I  8  THE    MISANTHROPE. 

CANTO    II. 

There  is  no  medium  in  this,  our  Life  ; 

We  either  vault  to  all-enduring  Fame, 
Which  springs  from  that  ennobling  higher  strife, 

We  only  meet  when  battling  for  a  name, 
Or  sink  beneath  the  obloquy,  so  rife 

Within  the  lower  walks  of  Crime  and  Shame, 
Where  men  are  lauded  for  promoting  sin, 
And  by  their  darksome  deeds  stained  laurels  win  ! 

Existence,  at  the  most,  is  but  a  Hell, 

Wherein  are  tortured  those  who  dare  to  seek, 

By  sheerest  force  of  intellect,  to  dwell 

In  realms  which  men  attain  by  Fortune's  freak  : 

A  few  are  gifted,  so  they  oft  compel 

The  world  to  bow  to  them,  outwardly  meek, 

In  low  obsequiousness,  most  uncouth, 

Deceiving  none,  save  some  all-trusting  youth  ! 

O'er  Montezuma's  fate  I  sadly  weep  ; 

The  vain  and  bitter  tears  fall  thick  and  fast ; 
Though  dead,  in  Memory  he  does  not  sleep  ; 

Of  his  great  race,  the  mightiest,  the  last 
To  fall  from  off  Misfortune's  darksome  steep, 

Bequeathing,  with  the  heroes  of  the  Past, 
To  countless  generations  hence,  a  name, 
To  beautify  the  sacred  scroll  of  Fame  ! 


THE    MISANTHROPE.  1*9 

Oh  !  Time  !  thou  Nemesis  of  ages — thou 
Hast  well  revenged  old  Spain's  forgotten  crime; 

Behold  !  the  wreck  of  Glory  she  is  now, 

Whose  commerce   once   reached  forth   to  every 
clime, 

Before  thy  vengeance  humby  doth  she  bow, 
Destroyer  of  those  monuments  sublime, 

Which  centuries  presumed  not  to  deface, 

Majestic,  vaunting  deeds  of  his  lost  race  ! 

Diverging  now,  my  hero  once  again  appears  ; 

Though  unbewearied  by  the  shocks  of  Fate, 
He  still  is  bound  and  bigoted  to  fears ; 

Alluring  Pleasure  e'en  cannot  abate 
An  age  of  Hell,  concentred  in  three  years, 

Which  hopes  unrealized  alone  create, 
O'erburdening  the  heart  with  that  dull  grief, 
That  in  excitement  only  finds  relief ! 

Untaught  to  know  he  had  to  cleave  and  break 
His  way  through  Life  by  aid  of  those  he  cursed, 

Within  forbidden  springs,  he  sought  to  s  lake, 
All-uncontrolled,  his  wild,  unceasing  thirst, 

And  out  of  compounds  dangerous,  to  make 

A  fame,  which  o'er  the  Earth  would   lurid  burst, 

Nor  cease  to  gleam,  till  Time  should  pass  away, 

A  star  by  night,  a  flaming  orb  by  day  ! 


2O  THE    MISANTHROPE. 

His  high  ambition  nothing  seemed  to  check  ; 

He  aimed  to  vault  beyond  all  human  will, 
Appearing  in  the  mists  of  Fame,  a  speck 

Of  mountain  far  above  the  ridge  of  hill 
Below,  and  like  some  worn  old  ocean  wreck, 

To  stand  or  fall  alone,  yet  falling  still, 
To  make  that  fall  so  felt,  and  even  feared, 
That  to  the  World  he  would  remain  endeared  ! 

He  deemed  himself  possessed  of  strength  to  cope 
With  Degradation's  horde  in  endless  strife, 

Led  on  to  hope,  beyond  the  verge  of  Hope, 
To  seek,  within  neglected  ways  of  Life, 

A  knowledge,  far  beyond  the  common  scope 

Of  knowledge,  whose  o'erlooked  by-paths  are  rife 

With  undiscovered  gems  of  truths  untold, 

That  Science  to  our  view  will  yet  unfold  ! 

Oh  !  thou  Albunea  I*   that  I  might  sleep, 
Enwrap't  in  thy  seclusion  sweet,  to-night, 

To  watch  yon  mirrored  Moon  roll  o'er  the  deep, 
Behind  him  leaving  pale,  grey  streaks  of  light, 

Through  which  the  dark  blue  waves  majestic  sweep, 
Across  the  torn  old  Globe,  an  endless  flight, 

Now  dashing  high,  where  Thought  scarce  dares  to 
soar, 

On  Baring's  Isle,  or  Del  Fuego's  shore; 

*  Albunea  is  a  wood  near  Rome,  sacred  to  the  Muses. 


THE    MISANTHROPE.  21 

Now  breaking  hoarse  and  rough  along  the  verge 
Of  old  Alaska's  dreary  wilds,  unknown  ; 

Now  round  the  World,  all-uncontrolled,  they  surge, 
Engarlanding,  with  laurels,  Nature's  throne, 

Until  in  one  unfathomed  sea  they  merge, 

Far-reaching,  measureless,  from  zone  to  zone, 

To  roll  triumphant,  though  all  else  decay, 

Not  of  the  stuff  that  animates  our  clay  ! 

I  am  no  hypocrite — no  infidel  : 

I  think  old  Nature  is  the  fountain  head 

Of  all  the  Universe,  the  God  as  well, 

That  when  the  body  dies,  the  soul  is  dead  ; 

That  man's  remorseful  thoughts  are  his  one  Hell ; 
For  dreamless,  endless  sleep  I  have  no  dread, 

That  far  along  the  verge  of  Time  I  see 

New  Worlds  arise,  when  this  has  ceased  to  be  ! 

I  love  my  God  with  all  my  life  and  soul ; 

I  see  his  image  mirrored -on  the  lake, 
In  mountain  waves  that  o'er  old  Ocean  roll, 

The  broad  expanse  of  shore  whereon  they  break ; 
Of  yon  round  flaming  Sun,  he  is  the  goal ; 

Alone  with  him  all  evil  thoughts  forsake — 
For  back  I  gaze  across  the  wilds  of  Time, 
Beholding  him  -grand,  fathomless,  sublime  ! 


OF   THE  '^ 

CTNIVERSITY  } 


22  THE    PAST. 


THE    PAST. 

Looming  up  out  some  long  forgotten  age, 
Through  History's  mystical  oft -turned  page, 
Twinkling  adown  unmeasured  worlds  of  Time, 
Bedimmed,  almost  obscured,  yet  still  sublime, 
Grand  relics  of  the  Past,  whose  pleasant  sway 
Shall  charm  new  lives,  when  this  is  in  decay; 
Where  Greece,  Rome,  Carthage  each,  with  haughty 

pride, 

The  nations  of  the  World  in  turn  defied; 
Where  Genius  forth  from  out  great  Nature  sprung* 
And  in  the  soul  of  Homer  wrote  and  sung — 
Then  all,  indeed,  was  Happiness  supreme, 
And  Misery  an  uncreated  dream! 

Thou  grand,  majestic  Past — Earth's  endless  day! 
Adown  dark  Life's  as  yet  unfathomed  way, 
Till  Nature  dies,  and  Thought  itself  be  gone, 
O'er  new-created  worlds  the  sacred  dawn 
Of  thy  Sun,  through  the  murky  clouds  of  Time 
Shall  beam  uninterruptedly  sublime! 

Thou  classic  Past !  where  mighty  Virgil  stood, 

And  out  Albunea's  secluded  wood, 

The  Eagle-^Enead  snatched  forth  to  light, 


THE    PAST.  23 

To  wend  o'er  ages  dim  eternal  flight, 

Where  from  the  Forum  noblest  thoughts  were  hurled, 

To  shape  the  grand  advancement  of  the  World, 

'Tis  thine  to  guide  the  Future  of  the  Earth, 

In  thee  all  knowledge  first  received  its  birth ! 

There  be  who  live  the  victims  of  Despair, 

Nor  watch  Time's  mighty  waters,  as  they  bear 

The  drifting  wrecks  of  centuries  away 

To  thy  lone  shores,  to  moulder  and  decay! 

If  this  be  all  which  we  have  toiled  and  sought — 

To  pass  from  Life  like  some  unspoken  thought 

Back  to  Oblivion  from  whence  we  came, 

Unhonored  and  unheard,  unknown  to  Fame — 

Then  haste  along,  dear  Time,  to  Life's  dark  verge, 

And  there,  in  Nothingness,  let  me  immerge! 

From  Arctic  isles  unknown  in  ice  encased, 
To  Africa's  most  dreary  desert  waste, 
Far-reaching  through  the  shades  of  endless  night, 
Across  unfathomed  realms  of  Space  and  Light; 
Yes,  on  and  on,  till  Thought  is  lost  in  scope, 
Where'er  runs  Fancy,  or  inspiring  Hope, 
Illumining,  with  her  reflecting  glare, 
The  cavern — dark  and  measureless — Despair; 
O'er  all,  the  Past  shall  hold  eternal  sway, 
As  darkest  nights  precede  a  brighter  day ! 


24  THE    PAST. 

I  gaze  across  dim  Life's  bedarkened  sea, 

To  where  it  merges  in  the  great  to  be, 

And  even  there,  as  Fancy's  way  doth  trend, 

Wondrous  old  Past,  I  see  thee  still  a  friend! 

To  bid  farewell  to  some  bewearied  soul, 

On  Time's  torn  waves  thy  Pleasures  upward  roll, 

And  as  he  sinks  within  the  dark  abyss, 

Thy  lips  alone  receive  his  parting  kiss ! 

Endearing  scenes  forever  now  behind  him  left, 

Of  all  on  Earth,  save  thee,  he  is  bereft ! 

For  thee,  those  wild,  unearthly  shrieks  unpour 

Above  the  surging  sea's  triumphant  roar, 

From  rock  to  rock  resounding  loud  and  long, 

While  round  the  buried  deeds  of  years  enthrong! 

And  yet,  perchance  there  be,  who  never  look 

O'er  thy  unwritten,  awe-inspiring  book, 

By  ages  paged,  and  ruins  grand,  sublime, 

The  monuments  along  the  life  of  Time ! 

The  World  with  changes  great  may  be  o'ercast, 
Yet  we  will  have  the  grand  and  solemn  Past! 
Its  Athens,  Rome,  its  Tiber  and  the  rest, 
By  centuries  agone  made  doubly  blest ! 
Across  the  broad  expanseless  wastes  of  Time, 
Entwined  around  two  thousand  years  sublime — 
From  worlds  unknown,  and  planets  yet  unsought, 


THE    PAST.  25 

Beyond  the  realms  of  Science  or  of  Thought, 
Where  Sadness  fades,  as  mist  across  the  sun, 
Where  deviating  Love  has  never  run, 
The  Past  looms  up  in  all  its  grand  decay, 
To  point  the  path  o'er  Life's  beclouded  way ! 


26  A    REVERIE. 


A    REVERIE. 

TO    L.    P.    H. 
I. 

Dim  thoughts  that  now  arise,  and  sweep 
From  caverns,  measureless  in  mind, 
That  outward  leap  to  join  their  kind, 

To  wake  the  Past  from  Sorrow's  sleep; 

Whereout  sad  memories  emerge, 

And  pleasant  scenes  that  now  are  gone, 
And  all  that  tells  the  brightest  dawn 

Of  Life's  dim  sun  is  at  the  verge — 

Old  Times  !  when  I  was  wont  to  look 
With  earnest  gaze  adown  the  way 
Of  Pleasures  yet  to  be,  and  grey 

Mists  that  o'erhung  the  fields  and  brook, 

That  by  the  town  its  noisy  race 

Did  run,  and  round,  about,  and  in, 
And  out,  and  passed  the  village  din, 

Toward  the  sea,  its  resting  place — 


A    REVERIE.  27 

Once  more  return  !  and  let  me  know 
Your  cheerfulness  to-night — again, 
The  quiet  wood,  the  sunken  glen, 

The  Happiness  of  all  below  ! 

When  my  young  heart  with  glee  ran  wild, 
And  beautiful  seemed  all  the  Earth  ; 
No  sorrows  then  to  cloud  my  mirth, 

And  all  in  Life  upon  me  smiled  ! 

But  why  so  changed  ?     I  cannot  tell, 
Unless  it  be  because  'tis  just, 
That  those  who  love,  and  cannot  trust 

Their  love,  are  doomed  a  living  Hell  I 

To  restless  wait  till  Death  appears, 

The  pent-up  mis'ry  to  unwind, 

Eternal  rest  unto  the  mind, 
The  long-hoped  happiness  of  years  ! 

ii. 

From  world  to  world  and  sea  to  sea, 
Along  the  horizon  of  Fame 
I  gaze,  and  hopeless,  strive  to  aim 

For  what  ne'er  was,  nor  ne'er  will  be  ! 

And  summers  pass,  and  winters  glide 
Unnoticed,  to  the  long  ago  ; 


28  A    REVERIE. 

Great  worlds  are  carried  with  the  flow, 
And  nations  float  adown  the  tide. 

Tis  better  far  to  be  content 

In  country  home,  and  till  the  earth, 
Than  strive  to  leap  to  Fame  and  Worth  ; 

For  life  is  lost  when  thus  'tis  spent  ! 

If  thine  it  be  the  goal  to  miss, 
Thy  noble  aims  avail  thee  not, 
An  animated  Hell's  thy  lot, 

And  dreamless  sleep  thine  only  bliss  ! 

in. 

To-night,  from  out  a  darkened  sky, 
A  something  thrills  my  very  soul, 
And  through  each  cell  doth  onward  roll, 

To  pass  to  nothingness — a  sigh  ! 

Black  clouds  above  float  to  and  fro  ; 

The  wind  blows  cold  across  the  lea  ; 

The  ships  are  tossed  about  the  sea, 
And  once  again  my  sorrows  flow  ! 

Bereft  of  all  that  I  most  need, 
I  wander  down  toward  the  tomb, 
And  vainly  ask,  from  out  the  gloom, 

What  kind  of  life  is  this  I  lead  ? 


A    REVERIE. 


And  will  I  never  reach  the  goal  ? 

And  winds  shriek  by,  and  laugh  to  think 
That  I  know  not ;  beyond  the  brink 

Of  Life,  alone  will  rest  the  soul  ! 

IV. 

The  dear  old  house !  I  see  it  still, 
The  willows  drooping  at  the  door, 
All  withered  now,  and  grey  and  hoar — 

The  brook  that  babbled  by  the  mill— 

The  woods  where  I  was  wont  to  play, 
Or  sit  and  hear,  from  out  the  breeze, 
The  low,  sad  moanings  of  the  trees, 

As  if  a  friend  had  passed  away — 

Or  watch  the  moonbeams  on  the  lake, 
And  from  the  shore  the  wavelets  chase, 
Around  about,  from  place  to  place, 

Until  some  mountain  wave  did  break 

Upon,  and  hide  them  from  the  sight, 
Or  wash  them  back  upon  the  land, 
Where  negligently  old,  and  grand 

In  solemnness,  and  bleak  and  white, 

Decayed,  tall  trees  arise  and  reach 
Toward  the  skies,  and  sullen  stare, 


3O  A    REVERIE. 

Across  the  mount,  snow-capt  and  bare, 
For  miles  along  the  pebbled  beach ! 

Old  scenes,  now  lost  to  me,  adieu! 

So  long  as  Thought's  dim  light  doth  bum, 
So  long  my  heart  shall  constant  yearn 

To  keep  thee  ever  in  my  view ! 

No  climes  thy  beauties  can  replace, 

New  friends  may  come,  new   scenes   ma} 

dawn, 
Remembrances  of  pleasures  gone, 

Nothing,  save  Death,  can  e'er  efface ! 

v. 

Roll  on,  dear  Time!  and  leave  me  here, 

Alone  to  wander  o'er  the  Past, 

Its  ruins  measureless,  and  vast 
Deserted  centuries,  though  sear 

And  blurred  by  mists  of  ages  gone, 
Though  all  decayed,  yet  doubly  dear, 
But  faded  out,  to  reappear 

Improved  by  flight,  and  grandly  dawn 

O'er  unknown  lives  that  are  to  be, 
And  worlds  that  roll  as  lurid  light, 
And  planets  of  eternal  night, 

From  shore  to  shore  and  sea  to  sea ! 


A    REVERIE.  31 

Old  Past,  aback  of  that  of  mine, 
So  solemn,  wonderful,  sublime, 
The  grand,  inspiring  work  of  Time, 

I  love  to  worship  at  thy  shrine ! 

VI. 

Dark  Morn!  that  wakes  me  from  sweet  sleep. 
And  pleasant  dreams  of  what  will  be, 
Across  great  Time's  unfathomed  sea, 

When  on  that  unknown  shore  I  leap, 

And  gain  the  rest  for  which  I  pine, 
Eternal  sleep  through  night  and  day, 
And  to  myself  I  turn  and  say, 

What  happiness  would  then  be  mine ! 

But  once  again  I  see  the  dawn, 
And  feel  once  more  the  thudding  pain, 
I  seek  to  still,  and  seek  in  vain, 

Until  this  life  is  passed  and  gone ! 

Across  unmeasured  seas  of  thought, 
Is  slowly  wafted  into  sight, 
Forgotten  Sorrow's  darkest  night, 

To  make  me  wish  that  I  were  not! 

VII. 

The  man's  a  fool,  who  thinks  to  find 
Relief  in  cursing  Fate  and  Fame. 


32  A    REVERIE. 

Because  he's  missed  a  life-long  aim, 
And  bears  a  Hell  within  his  mind! 

Whoever  hopes  to  climb  above 

The  envy,  hate,  and  grief  of  Earth, 
For  honor  and  for  better  worth, 

Must  learn  the  Sacredness  of  Love ! 

'Tis  this  incentive  makes  men  great, 

That  leads  them  on  from  height  to  height, 
That  guides  young  Genius  in  his  flight, 

And  shapes  the  destinies  of  State ! 

A  Love  revered  inspires  an  aim 
For  higher  things  within  the  soul, 
And  becks  us  on  toward  a  goal, 

To  tread  the  secret  walks  of  Fame ! 

VIII. 

Cold,  dreary  Day !  what  hast  thou  brought  ? 
Didst  come  to  tell  of  some  new  grief, 
Lest  I  might  dare  to  find  relief 

From  useless  hopes  for  what  is  naught  ? 

Or  is  it  to  ope  up  anew 

The  blighted  aims  of  years,  agone 
That  all  my  life  had  centred  on, 

And  hold  them  nearer  to  the  view  ? 


A    REVERIE.  33 

Oh  !  tell  me  not,  deceitful  one, 
That  she  again,  my  love,  will  trust, 
That  when  we  leave  this  tortured  dust, 

Another  Life  will  be  begun  ! 

Is't  not  enough  to  live  a  Hell, 

That  some  will  dream  of  future  woe  ; 
If  true  or  not,  we  do  not  know, 

For  none  return  to  ever  tell  I 

IX. 

Sometimes  I  think  I  yet  shall  find 
A  calm  for  all  my  storms  of  pain  ; 
And  otherwhere  shall  yet  attain 

A  rest  for  weariness  of  mind  ! 

And  on  I  go  from  day  to  day; 

From  month  to  month  and  year  to  year  ; 

And  all  about  is  dark  and  drear, 
Since  all  my  hopes  have  flown  away  ! 

It  seems  but  such  a  little  while, 

Since  all  my  life  was  wrapt  in  bliss  ; 
A  child  that  Fortune  stooped  to  kiss, 

And  Pleasure  on  my  way  did  smile ; 

That  now  I  sadly  gaze  about, 

And  yearning,  strive  in  vain  to  see 
3 


34  A    REVERIE. 

My  path  as  it  was  wont  to  be, 
Ere  I  was  doomed  to  nurture  Doubt  ! 


x. 

The  moanings  low  of  distant  seas, 
That  saddened  splash  along  the  shore 
Against  great  rocks,  all  grey  and  hoar, 

The  sighing  winds  within  the  trees — 

Old  Ocean's  mountain  waves  sublime, 
That  chase  each  other  o'er  the  deep, 
And  round  the  World  in  grandeur  sweep, 

Alike,  defying  Death  and  Time — 

The  thunder  shocks  from  out  the  gloom 
Of  raging  storms  that  tortured  groan 
Across  the  Globe  from  zone  to  zone — 

The  hidden  secrets  of  the  tomb — 

The  dreary  wastes,  and  deserts  vast, 
That  robe  old  Africa  in  white, 
The  movements  of  the  stars  at  night, 

The  solemn  wonders  of  the  Past — 

The  grey,  bleak  cliffs  and  crags  that  lift 
From  out  the  sea,  and  sullen  loom 
Along  the  shore  athrough  the  gloom, 

Until  the  clouds  from  off  them  shift — 


A    REVERIE.  35 

The  planets  yet  unknown  above, 

The  brook  that  wends  through  wood  and  field, 
The  years  to  come — what  food  ye  yield 

For  Meditation  and  for  Love  ! 

• 

XI. 

There  are  beings  upon  this  Earth, 

Though  young  in  years,  feel  old  as  Life — 
Pre-cursed  and  doomed  to  Pain  and  Strife 

The  moment  they  receive  their  birth, 

Their's  is  but  one  long,  dreary  age 

Of  Disappointment  fraught  with  Grief, 
For  which  they  only  find  relief, 

When  Death,  their  sorrow  doth  assuage  ! 

The  victims  of  impatience,  they 

Ride  tempest-tossed  across  the  waves  ; 
Unsatisfied,  they  reach  their  graves, 

Ambition's  worn  and  wearied  prey  ! 

Existence  unto  them  is  Hell  ; 

From  youth,  by  all-enduring  Hope, 
To  grasp  beyond  the  fitting  scope 

Of  Hope,  misled  to  strive  to  dwell 

Where  mortal  never  yet  hath  dwelt ; 
Thev  aim  for  Peace  and  miss  their  aim  ; 


36  A    REVERIE. 

Their  goal,  perchance,  is  Worth  and  Fame  ; 
The  two,  the  ice  which  Time  will  melt  ! 

Precocity  describes  them  not ; 

From  Sorrow,  knowledge  they  attain  ; 

Their  Life,  one  constant  war  with  Pain, 
And  dark,  unceasing,  hidden  Thought ! 

XII. 

To  tread  Sahara's  wastes — to  know, 
That  those  white  waves  o.f  dreary  sand 
Are  all  that's  left  to  mark  the  grand, 

Majestic  sea  that  there  did  flow, 

From  Siwah's  Weakened  wilds,  and  old,  • 
To  broad  Atlantic's  heaving  surge, 
And  back  again  along  the  verge 

Of  Egypt,  where  great  Nile  has  rolled 

Since  Time  began  his  wondrous  race, 

And  by  the  ruins  silent,  vast, 

Inspiring  relics  of  the  Past 
That  rise  from  out  each  storied  place  ! 

The  Pyramids — great  piles  of  stone — 
That  welcome  each  grey  morning's  dawn, 
The  same  as  in  dim  ages  gone, 

Are  sometimes  heard  to  creak  and  groan 


A    REVERIE.  37 

Beneath  the  wrongs  heaped  on  their  race, 
To  hear  extolled  in  modern  rhymes, 
Young  nations,  known  but  for  dark  crimes 

A  thousand  years  can  ne'er  efface  ! 

The  Sphinxes  grand,  that  upward  loom 
Without  the  mists,  and  sullen,  stare 
O'er  Libya's  wilds,  untrod  and  bare, 

Toward  some  by-gone  monarch's  tomb, 

If  they  but  would,  could  all  relate 

A  hidden  history  they  hold, 

And  long,  dark  mystery  unfold, 
The  rise  and  fall  of  many  a  state  1 

Old  Past  !  will  ye  not  speak  to  him 
Who  strives  in  vain  to  penetrate 
The  secret  aims  of  Time  and  Fate, 

And  ope  your  stores  so  vast  and  dim  ? 


Dark  Winter  !  with  thy  months  of  gloom, 
I  hoped  my  soul  would  take  its  flight 
Ere  I  should  see  thy  dreary  night 

Again,  and  otherwhere  might  bloom  ! 

To  gaze  upon  the  snow  and  sleet  ; 
To  watch  the  clouds  float  far  abov 


OF  THB 

UNIVERSITY 


38  A    REVERIE. 

And  feel  that  now  my  hopeless  love 
Is  bleaker  than  the  long,  white  street, 

Is  all  that  thou  hast  heart  to  bring, 
For  fear,  mayhap,  I  might  forget 
That  I  and  Sorrow  e'er  had  met, 

Or  e'er  known  Doubt  and  felt  its  sting  ! 

But  Spring,  perchance,  will  be  more  bright 
Than  it  has  been  for  many  years  ; 
And  this  sad  heart,  now  crushed  with  fears, 

May  once  again  with  Joy  be  light  ! 

Ah  !  then,  to  look  back  o'er  the  Past, 
The  deserts  vast  of  Sadness  there, 
The  heaving  seas  of  black  Despair, 

To  hear  ;   "  Forgiven,"  said  at  last  ! 

XIV. 

Tell  me  !  O  soul  !  so  still  and  calm, 
Is  there  a  hope  to  clasp  my  friend  ; 
Will  heart  with  heart  as  one  e'er  blend — 

Tell  me  !  I  say  !  is  there  a  balm 

For  Doubt  in  Love  ?     And  comes  reply  ; 
"  Tis  better  far  with  Hell  to  wed, 
Than  love  where  trust  has  been  misled — 

To  live,  is  harder  than  to  die  ! 


A    REVERIE.  39 

When  Nature  fades,  and  Time  runs  out 
Its  dim,  mysterious  race, 
Its  great  immensity  of  space, 

Love  only  then  will  ne'er  know  Doubt  J" 

t 

xv. 

The  day  is  come,  so  dear  to  all — 
The  grand  old  Independence  Day, 
Whereon  Oppression  lost  her  sway, 

And  Nature  joyed  to  see  the  fall  ! 

From  mount  to  mount,  and  shore  to  shore, 
O'er  many  a  broad,  expanseless  plain, 
Sweet  Liberty  hath  claimed  domain, 

And  Tyranny's  crushed  to  rise  no  more  ! 

Along  the  streets  are  flags  unfurled, 
Emblems  for  which  our  fathers  died, 
The  banners  of  a  Nation's  pride, 

Heralds  of  Freedom  to  the  World  ! 

The  soldiers  march  with  measured  tread, 
And  proud  that  they  may  thus  revere 
The  grandest  day  of  all  the  year  ; 

And  praises  give  to  honored  dead 

Of  Valley  Forge,  and  Bunker  Hill, 

Who  fought  and  bled,  their  rights  to  save  ; 


4O  A    REVERIE. 

And  Freedom  sought  within  the  giave, 
But  left  behind  a  record,  still, 

Adown  long  ages  hence  its  way 
To  wend,  and  brighten  in  its  flight, 
Until  it  gleams  a  sacred  light 

To  burn,  though  nations  all  decay  ! 

Methinks  the  time  is  yet  to  be, 

When  Liberty  shall  reign  supreme, 
The  Goddess  of  whom  poets  dream, 

From  marge  to  marge  and  sea  to  sea  1 

When  War's  red  banner  will  be  furled, 
When  Misery  shall  be  unknown  * 
From  clime  to  clime  and  zone  to  zone, 

Freedom  shall  rule  o'er  all  the  World! 


Ye  Winds  !  that  waft  across  the  sea, 
O'er  hidden  isles,  the  love  of  yore 
To  me  and  this  wild,  dreary  shore, 

Known  only  to  the  storms  and  thee, 

Have  ye  no  mercy,  that  ye  must 

Wreck  on  these  rocks  of  dark  Despair, 
The  sweet  young  life  that  ye  now  bear, 

The  pure  love,  the  broken  trust  ? 


A    REVEKIE.  41 

Must  she  be  forced  to  suffer  too, 

For  that  which  I  alone  have  wrought  ; 
Must  her  light  heart  with  Pain  be  fraught 

Because  my  love  has  proved  untrue  ? 

Let  Grief  prevail  and  do  her  worst ; 

Let  Pleasures  all  be  swept  away  ; 

Let  hope  on  hope  sink  in  decay, 
And  e'en  my  life  be  doubly  cursed, 

But  leave  to  her  the  better  love 

That's  in  thy  power  to  bestow ; 

The  Peace  and  Joy  of  all  below, 
The  Innocence  of  all  above  ! 


Oh  !  that  'twas  left  with  me  to  say 
That  all  my  grief  is  near  the  end  ; 
That  I  again  might  call  thee  friend, 

And  all  the  Past  were  in  decay — 

To  hear:  "Forgiven  !"  softly  flow 
From  thy  sweet  lips  athrough  my  soul, 
And  feel  that  I  had  reached  a  goal 

More  dear  than  Fame's  seductive  show  ! 

Alas  !    my  fancy's  rudely  crossed 
By  Retrospect  so  cold  and  bleak, 


42  A    REVERIE. 

Once  more  I'm  doomed  in  vain  to  seek 
My  way  through  love  by  doubting  lost  ! 

And  Pleasure  fades  as  I  draw  near, 
As  if  in  sympathy  with  thee  ; 
And  all  about  is  dark  to  me, 

Since  that  is  lost  which  made  life  dear  ! 

XVIII. 

Yet  half  I  think  there  yeT  will  be, 
When  o'er  my  life  thou'lt  sadly  gaze 
On  all  the  long  and  dreary  days 

That  I  have  spent  in  thoughts  of  thee  ! 

And  wilt  thou  then  believe,  once  more, 
That  wavered  love  is  constant  still, 
Thy  vassal,  or  whate'er  you  will, 

E'en  all  in  all  it  was  before  ? 

Look  through  my  soul  and  find  it  there, 
The  sickened  calm  of  calm  despair, 
The  sultriness  of  summer  air, 

A  heart  bewearied  with  its  care, 

And  then  say  whether  love  doth  live, 
That  even  Time  has  failed  to  check  ; 
A  Life  that  floats  an  aimless  wreck, 

To  only  hear  :  "  I  do  forgive  !'' 


A    REVERIE.  43 

For  this,  old  Fame,  I've  daring  sought 
To  stem  the  tide  of  yearnings  vain 
That  roll  across  dark  realms  of  Pain, 

From  out  black,  surging  seas  of  Thought  ! 


Yet  others,  greater,  have  let  burst 
Across  the  arid  wilds  of  Time 
Their  seas  of  ^letaphor  sublime, 

To  drown  from  out  a  mind  accurst 

The  thoughts  in  rusty  chains  encased  ; 
Then  why  need  I  again  review 
The  painful  tale  in  words  anew, 

The  Misery  of  Love  misplaced  1 


44  AGE    OF    CHIVALRY. 


THE   AGE    OF    CHIVALRY. 

The  sun  has  sunk  beneath  the  distant  West, 
The  warbling  birds  to  woodlands  wend  their  flight, 
And  there,  enwrapt  in  solitude  and  night, 

Within  the  hidden  foliage  find  rest ! 

The  moonbeams  dance  along  the  mouldy  wall 
Of  what  was  once  an  edifice  sublime: 
Decayed  guide-post  to  mark  the  way  of  Time, 

The  mighty  rise  of  nations  and  their  fall ! 

Undusted  and  unswept  the  library  stands, 
With  countless  volumes  of  be-mildewed  lore, 

Unread  by  human  eyes,  nor  touched  by  hands 
Of  man  for  half  a  century  and  more ! 

Long  galleries,  whose  portraits  faded,  old, 
Of  knights  and  ladies,  from  the  Norman  down. 

Gaze  out  their  frames  across  the  darkened  wold, 
And  in  bewilderment  upon  it  frown; 

The  garden,  now  unused,  with  weeds  o'ergrown, 
Where  once  the  foliage  breathed  sweet  perfume 

To  all  around,  by  ages  long  o'erthrown — 
As  monuments  mark  heroes  in  the  tomb, 


AGE    OF    CHIVALRY.  45 

To  sadly  tell  of  faded  glories  gone, 
In  drear  and  distant  centuries  of  old, 

When  Chivalry  o'er  all  the  world  did  dawn, 
And  through  the  mists  of  Fame  triumphant  rolled ! 

The  babbling  brook  that  wends  toward  the  sea, 
Upon  whose  banks  there  stood  some  knight  of  old, 
And  to  his  love  his  secret  did  unfold, 

Beneath  the  shade  of  some  old  oaken  tree — 

Yet  not  till  honor,  and  renown,  and  fame, 
On  countless  battle-fields,  hard-fought,  were  won, 

Did  he  presume  the  right  to  have  a  claim — 
For  this  some  deed  of  glory  must  be  done ! 

Old,  wond'rous  towers,  fallen  to  decay, 
The  haunts  of  screeching  owls,  that  through  the  night 

From  off  the  turrets  hoot,  and  as  the  day 
Breaks  in  upon  them  vanish  from  the  sight; 

Great,  dreary  seas  of  ages,  surging  o'er 
The  bare,  black  cliffs  along  the  verge  of  Time, 
To  form  into  mountainous  isles  sublime, 

From  century  sands  that  drift  from  off  the  shore, 

Have  too  plainly  entwined  on  all  around 
Long  years,  all  ivy-grown  in  grand  decay,  - 

And  now  they  loom  in  sacredness  profound, 
To  tell  of  Chivalry  and  its  lost  sway! 


46  TO    L.   P.  H. 


TO    L.    P.     H. 

With  thine  initials  o'er  my  verse, 
I  purify  from  sin  this  page 
In  thoughts  of  thee,  and  half  assuage 

The  deep  self-torture  of  my  curse ! 

When  down  dark  Life's  unmeasured  way, 
Thou  trendest  on  toward  the  goal, 
May  purest  pleasures  upward  roll, 

And  to  the  end  thy  griefs  allay ! 

May  thy  sweet  soul  be  Virtue's  shrine, 
Through  distant  years  that  are  to  be, 
May  Earth  be  Heaven  unto  thee, 

And  both  their  joys  for  thee  combine ! 

May  Fate  for  thee  no  ills  unpour, 
That  life  may  be  an  endless  bliss, 
Unto  the  verge  of  that  abyss 

Where  earthly  griefs  are  known  no  more ! 


DREAM    OF    DEATH. 


DREAM    OF    DEATH. 

I  sit  to-night  alone  in  my  room, 

And  strange,  wild  thoughts  around  me  pour; 
I  think  I  hear  a  voice  from  the  tomb — 

A  voice  from  the  caves  of  that  dark  shore — 

From  mysterious  worlds  of  dread, 
From  out  the  land  of  darkest  doom, 

From  unknown  realms  of  ghastly  dead, 
Out  of  their  shadows  dim  and  gloom, 

They  shriek  and  yell  with  wild  delight 
The  phantoms  of  that  restless  sleep; 

They  tell  me  of  the  endless  night, 
Upon  the  shores  of  an  icy  deep. 

Of  nights  that  are  starless  there; 

No  Sun  lights  the  day,  dark  and  drear — 
Wierd,  ghastly  demons  haunt  the  air; 

The  leaves  on  the  trees  are  withered,  sear ! 

>_ 

Of  a  black  and  waveless  stream, 

Whose  waters  are  cold  and  deep, 
Of  the  land  of  wildest  dream, 

In  an  unawakening  sleep! 


48         .  DREAM    OF    DEATH. 

Great  terrors  creep  o'er  my  soul, 

Thinking  of  waters  so  black  and  still, 

That  through  those  realms  so  silent  roll, 
For  all  are  subject  to  their  will. 

Not  one  escapes  their  merciless  rule — 
All  must  sleep  that  horrible  sleep, 

In  icy  waters  cold  and  cruel, 

In  realms  of  that  bedarkened  deep! 

Demoniacal  realms  of  the  dead, 
The  waters*1  of  that  ghastly  stream ! 

Ghoul-haunted  regions  of  dread, 

The  land  of  wild  and  darkest  dream ! 

In  mysterious  worlds  of  dread, 
Unfathomable  land  of  doom, 

Unmeasured  realms  of  ghastly  dead, 
Through  ages  mystical  of  gloom ! 


HOPE   ON.  49 


HOPE    ON! 

Though  fraught  thy  soul, 
With  secret  Sorrow's  dearth, 

Hope  on !  there  is  a  goal — 
Attain  immortal  worth ! 

Though  Life  be  drear, 
And  grief  on  grief  falls  fast, 

Hope  on !  and  do  not  fear, 
All  find  a  rest  at  last ! 

Each  has  his  care; 
And  though  it  storms  to-night, 

Hope  on !  do  not  despair, 
To-morrow  may  be  bright! 

Hope  on  !  Hope  on  ! 
No  matter  what  betide, 

A  brighter  day  will  dawn 
Upon  the  other  side! 


5O  A    RETROSPECT. 


A    RETROSPECT. 

Oft,  on  Memory's  winds,  the  brightest  night 

Of  Life  is  pleasantly  borne  into  sight, 

When  through  the  grove,  or  on  the  village  green, 

We  walked,  and  happiness  o'er  all  serene; 

Or  by  some  rippling  brook  we  sat,  and  dreamed 

Life's  dim  and  distant  Future  what  it  seemed, 

When  first  we  met,  and  all  around  was  bliss — 

But  now,  across  the  measureless  abyss 

Of  Time  I  gaze,  and  vainly  seek  the  source 

Whence  Love  diverged  her  wond'rous  course. 

But  Pleasure  never  yet  unlinked  her  chain, 

Unless  'twas  welded  by  unthought-of  pain ! 

Who  does  not  vainly  seek  to  penetrate 

The  awe-appalling  mysteries  of  Fate, 

Until  the  light  of  Reason's  endless  day 

Breaks  in  and  charms  the  unreal  spell  away? 

Who  does  not  wish  in  life  to  leave  a  name 

Indelible  upon  the  scroll  of  Fame? 

Can  Power  supernatural  above 

Stem  Sorrow's  tide,  or  soothe  unanswered  Love? 


A    RETROSPECT.  51 

Ah!  what  a  mourning,  weeping  world  was  left, 
When  she  of  thy  great  presence  was  bereft — 
Thou  Poet  of  the  Past!  whose  thought  did  sweep 
Afar  across  the  realms  of  dreamless  sleep, 
Free  of  the  cares  of  earth,  and  all  its  gloom, 
In  climes  unknown,  and  worlds  beyond  the  tomb ! 

And  if  the  soul,  when  o'er  that  wild  is  tossed, 
It  in  ETERNAL  CHAOS  is  not  lost, 
Leaves  not  behind  the  trouble,  toil  and  strife 
Of  this  dread,  vacillating  thing  called  Life, 
Then  when  and  where,  I  ask — and  ask  in  vain — 
Will  cease  the  dull,  inexplicable  pain 
Around  every  joy,  serpent-like  entwined, 
Fang-pierced  the  deepest  recess  of  the  mind 


52  LINES   TO    NAIDIE. 


LINES    TO    NAIDIE. 

Yes,  to  thee,  dear  Naidie,  these  lines  are  penned — 
Imperfect  mark  of  the  writer's  esteem — 

For  thou  art  to  him  far  dearer  than  friend — 
His  hope,  his  guide,  on  Life's  mystical  stream! 

Though  the  future  were  dark,  dim  and  distant, 
Full  of  dreariness  and  sorrow  my  life, 

For  thee  I'll  be  always  persistent, 

To  climb  far  above  its  trouble  and  strife! 

Though  trouble  and  toil  may  be  before  me, 
I  know,  I  feel,  that  thou  wilt  be  there  too, 

To  quell  the  saddened  thoughts  that  come  o'er  me, 
And  cheat  the  destinies  out  of  their  due  1 

Though  the  Sun  of  my  Life  may  go  down, 
And  Darkness  hover  about  and  above  me, 

In  Oblivion's  waters  my  griefs  I'll  drown, 
For  I  know  there  is  one  that  will  love  me ! 


DEFYING    FATE.  53 


DEFYING    FATE. 

Break  on!  ye  seas  of  Pain  and  Strife, 
O'er  hidden  pleasures  break — and  wear 

Away  these  crags  of  black  Despair — 
This  long,  dark  Misery  of  Life! 

Break  on!  ye  seas  of  Strife  and  Pain, 

O'er  Sorrow's  Weakened  realms — break  on! 
Till*  Madness  luridly  shall  dawn 

In  hellish  glory  o'er  my  brain ! 

Break  on !  ye  seas,  in  great  wild  waves, 
Break  on!  and  tear  from  out  my  mind 
The  hopes  of  years,  now  far  behind, 

And  bear  them  down  to  unknown  graves! 

Break  on !  ye  seas,  o'er  Time's  dark  steep, 
In  grandeur  leap;  break  on!  and  tear 
To  wrecks  this  heart,  with  all  its  care, 

And  bear  it  to  eternal  sleep ! 


54  TO    NAIDIE. 


TO.NA1DIE. 

Oh  !  thou,  in  thoughts  of  whom  my  griefs  I  drown, 

If  thy  sweet  approbation  greets  my  page, 
Then  will  I  climb  the  mountain  of  Renown, 

That  I  may  yet  my  ceaseless  gloom  assuage ; 
That  years  to  come  will  e'en  produce  a  crown 

Of  laurels,  keeping  green  from  age  to  age, 
Unwithered  by  the  World's  cold,  sunless  frown, 

The  bleakened  winds  of  Envy  and  their  rage, 
Engarlanding  the  sacred  wreath  of  Fame 
About  my  verse,  and  fadeless  Glory  round  my  name ! 

When  half-subdued,  alone  I  fought  the  World, 

While  many  a  disappointment  on  me  fell; 
When  grief  on  grief  all  merciless  was  hurled, 

While  even  thought  itself  was  more  than  hell — 
When  o'er  Despair's  black  smoke  triumphant  curled, 

Entwining  round  my  soul  his  gloomy  spell; 
When  Fortune  fled,  and  Hope  her  banner  furled — 

When  all  about  was  pain,  that  naught  could  quell — 
I  thought  of  thee,  and  dared  once  more  to  breast 
The  storm-tossed  waves  until  they  bore  me  to  my  rest ! 


TO    L.   P.  H.  55 


TO  L.   P.    H.  . 

May  all-propitious  fates  entwine 
Contentment  sweet  about  thy  soul ! 

May  Fortune's  sun  above  thee  shine, 
To  light  thy  way  to  Glory's  goal !  , 

May  Happiness  rule  all  thy  life, 
And  all  her  joys  to  thee  impart, 

Unto  the  verge  where  earthly  strife 
Is  powerless  to  touch  the  heart! 


56  NOTES    AND    ERRATA. 


NOTES. 

"THE  MISANTHROPE"  was  commenced  on  the  twenty- 
ninth  of  August,  1874,  and  finished  ere  the  eighteenth  of 
September  rolled  around. 

"THE  PAST"  was  written  in  the  month  of  March,  1874. 

"A  REVERIE"  was  commenced  in  April,  1874,  and  fin 
ished  before  the  first  of  August. 

"  THE  AGE  OF  CHIVALRY"  was  written  in  May,  1874. 

"  To  L.  P.  H.,"  lines  were  written  in  September,  1874. 

"  THE  DREAM  OF  DEATH"  was  composed  in  Patterson, 
N.  J.,  1871. 

"  HOPE  ON!"  was  written  in  September,  1874. 

"  A  RETROSPECT"  was  originally  a  part  of  "  The  Past." 

"  LINES  TO  NAIDIE"  were  written  in  Patterson,  N.  J.,  1871. . 

"To  L.  P.  H.,  lines  were  written  in  October,  1874. 

"DEFYING  FATE"  was  written  in  Sepiember,  1874. 

"  To  NAIDIE"  was  composed  in  October,  1874, 


ERRATA. 

On  page  19,  in  second  stanza,  at  the  end  of  second  line, 
insert  a  semicolon;  at  the  end  of  third  line,  omit  semicolon; 
and  at  the  end  of  fourth  line  insert  semicolon. 

On  page  21,  in  the  third  stanza,  seventh  line,  instead  of 
the  word  "for,"  read  "far." 


YA  01694 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


